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Second War Story
This page contains the full text of all story updates written for the Second War. A more general overview is available on the main Second War page. Prologue The Holy Grail War In another world, at another time, three families of powerful mages came together to perform a complex ritual. One family provided the land, connected to the magical energy of the planet itself via countless ley lines; another, the technique to capture that power; and the third, a vessel in which the power could be contained and controlled. These three families, otherwise mortal enemies, were willing to work with one another for only one reason: the reward promised by the ritual was simply too great to ignore. I speak, of course, of the Holy Grail. In pursuit of the cup of heaven, that almighty device said to grant its holder’s every wish, the three families dedicated centuries of toil and shed the blood of scores of people. They waged Wars for the Holy Grail, amongst themselves and with others. Time and time again, their efforts came to naught; but mages are nothing if not stubborn, and none among the three families would let the ritual end. And yet, their stories are for another time -- our tale begins where that story ends, after the age-old ritual finally reached its perfect completion. After so many generations of repeated effort, the mages lost sight of their original goals; or perhaps it’s better to say that the ritual itself became their goal. The Holy Grail does not speak the words of men; it reads their hearts, their souls, their desires. When at long last the Grail was incarnated to the hands of one of the three families, the desire it sensed was singular and pointed: “I wish for the enactment of the ritual called the Holy Grail War”. In that instant, the fabric of reality shifted. Parallel worlds, alternate realities, divergent timelines; call them what you will, all sides of the kaleidoscope of time and space were irreparably mutated from that moment on. Worlds that had never known magic at all sprung to attention as mages awakened within their ranks; realities much like our own, where mages once pursued their own paths, were turned at once to face the cup of heaven alone. It was a change so wide and so overwhelming that almost none could even perceive it happening, but happen it did. Now, a new Holy Grail War system prevails in the minds of mages, and no world is free from its chains. Our story this time is just one War among myriad, set in one reality among infinite, none more significant than a single shard in the sea of fragments. But is is our story, it is your story, and it is a story that needs to be told. The stage is set in the city of Zephyranthes, covering an island too small to appear on any but the most detailed of maps. In this world, the Holy Grail itself chooses when and where to manifest, and no one can predict its next destination. For many of the mages selected to fight for ownership of the Grail, however, its choices came as no surprise; they are connected to one another by their pasts, and to the cup by their futures. The mages chosen by the Grail are called Masters. Through the power of the Grail’s ritual, they summon heroes of legend to fight beside them: Servants. Altogether, seven teams of Master and Servant will clash. Alliances, rivalries, and all manner of relationships will be forged, but in the end, only one will claim the Grail. The Grail has not been kind to this world. Though the previous War ended without a winner claiming the cup of heaven, all prior Wars in this world reached their completion, and the geographical and political landscapes of the planet have been burnt and torn as a result. The Grail comes to this land not as a blessing, but a curse. Even before the Grail’s owner claims their wish and shakes the world, the land chosen by the Grail as its ritual site is irreparably altered. A dark sphere of magical energy forms in the sky, gathering storm clouds so dense that the region is covered in eternal night. The crackling bolts in the skies above mirror the tension between combatants, breaking into lethal force without a moment’s notice, just as the ever-rising tide of the ocean echoes their swelling emotions. It is typically the authority of the Church to govern the Holy Grail ritual, but the elderly priest who preaches to the people of Zephyranthes is mysteriously absent. Without the reassurance of a governing body, nearly all of the inhabitants of the island have fled to other countries, fearing the worst for their humble hometown. It is even unclear whether the Grail’s chosen Conduit, the person through whom the Grail will be manifest at the end of the ritual, still remains on the island. With a dark cloud of doubt passing slowly overhead, the Zephyranthes War begins silently. Each Master has called their Servant and come to the ritual grounds. None know who will make the first move, but somehow, all seven sense that it will happen tonight. The curtain rises -- please, enjoy the show... Prologue: End Night 0 (S) You Nailed it, Squirt An unfamiliar bed. An unfamiliar ceiling. And all around her, an unfamiliar city, full of unfamiliar people. One thing was familiar, however: the dream that had torn Shiela from her sleep at the ungodly hour of 3:00 AM. She would not soon forget the sounds of crackling flame all around her, the smile on her Archer’s face as he faded into nothing, or the smell of blood mixed with wine, pouring without end from the Cup of Heaven those ten short years ago. Shiela forced the nightmare from her mind and pulled herself upright as she swung out of the hotel’s queen-size bed. Her bare feet felt cool on the hardwood floor as she walked over to the chair where she’d tossed her clothes the previous evening. No point in trying to get back to sleep, she thought to herself, between the storm outside and this little brat’s glare. The two sources of Shiela’s annoyance could both be found on the hotel’s balcony. The little brat in question was somehow an Assassin-class Servant, though Shiela could hardly believe it, and the storm outside was actually more of a storm inside thanks to his blatant disregard for the balcony doors he’d left open. He seemed not to even notice the wind, rain, and occasional strikes of lightning; he simply sat, one leg extended and one leg up to rest his arm on, staring daggers in Shiela’s direction. “Can’t sleep, monster? Let me guess: tormented by your sins?” The youth had practically spat the accusation at her, but with his white hair stuck all over his face by the pounding rain, he really didn’t look especially intimidating. “You nailed it, squirt,” Shiela replied, closing the balcony door and drawing the curtain with Assassin still outside. She was happily married, and once the War was over, she’d decided to tell her husband that she wanted a boy. She hadn’t thought herself the motherly type, but something about Assassin’s defiant attitude... That, and the flustered blush he made when Shiela ruffled his hair from behind. Come to think of it, that was probably why he’d spent the last two days hyper-vigilant... But his stubborn side was adorable, too. The way Shiela saw it, the little... altercation, shall we say, between her and the boy two days prior had been entirely Assassin’s own fault. What kind of Servant pulled a gun on his Master right after being summoned? And on top of that, what kind of Servant dropped his gun after being knocked off of his feet and put into a figure-four leg lock? She hadn’t even been holding his arms! Surely no one could blame her for picking on him a bit after that. ...Well, Shiela thought to herself, one ‘person’ did blame me, if you want to count that thing as a person. After plonking down on the couch, she craned her neck backward to look across the room upside-down. “Lola,” Shiela called, “get me a drink, will you?” An outside observer might have thought Shiela crazy for talking to no one, but the silence that followed was quickly broken by mechanical chirps. “No, I won’t,” Lola retorted, with a “hmph” for good measure. “Don’t think I’ll do what you say just because I’m an AI! I’m only programmed to obey Copen!” Shiela simply chuckled in response. “Yeah, yeah. You were cuter when you weren’t just a floating ball, you know.” Lola’s humanoid form might have had facial expressions to read that her normal form didn’t, but even without them, Shiela could tell that her pokes were getting to Lola. The logical thing to do, then, was of course to poke harder. “I didn’t see you helping out your master when he was flailing on the floor in a grapple. Isn’t it your job to attack independently?” “Urrrrgghhhhh!!” Lola’s childish whine split the air, and the little orb flew out of Shiela’s sight, presumably to join Assassin on the balcony. She (or ‘it’? Damn robots, thinking they’re people) had a bit of trouble getting through the balcony door without any hands, but Shiela had faith that she’d eventually remember the window that had still been left open. You know, I hope they don’t charge me for water damage... --- ...Shiela decided not to take the chance, and the unlikely trio had stealthily made their way outside of the hotel before 4:30 AM. The rain had calmed itself somewhat by that point, but Shiela still went ahead and made Assassin hold an umbrella for her, just because she could. He had refused at first, of course, but when the red light of Shiela’s Command Seals started to peek out from behind her gloves (not to mention the fist-shape that said gloves started to curl into), the boy wisely decided not to make too much of a fuss. He did, however, feel the need to be snarky. “What’s the plan, monster? Surely you have a plan, and don’t mean to wander aimlessly around the city.” “Hmm?” Shiela looked down at the boy, at least ten centimetres shorter than her. “I thought I heard my Servant just now, but all I see is a preppy-dressed boy being sassy.” Assassin grit his teeth and fumed for a few seconds, then repeated himself. “Master, I would like to please hear your orders.” He had expected the Celtic woman to laugh, or to praise him sarcastically, or to otherwise find some way to humiliate him; Assassin was therefore quite surprised when, looking up into his Master’s eyes, he saw the telltale mixture of fear and determination which a soldier wears into battle. “In the alley,” whispered Shiela, “behind those dumpsters. Be quiet, I don’t think they’ve seen us.” Copen fixed his attention in the direction his Master had indicated, immediately locating the best angle of approach. His muscles tensed as he readied his legs to jump, and his left hand folded into a fist, middle finger hovering just barely above the switch that would reactivate his combat gear instantaneously. His grip loosened on the umbrella handle, and-- --It was too late. The attacker struck before Assassin could react, they had come from an angle he wasn’t expecting, and soon after, his scream pierced the early morning air... “...I told you not to touch my haaaaaiiiirrr!!” Night 0 (S): End (Holy crap it's infuriatingly annoying to make formatting work for these, I'll get back to it sometime next year probably)